Angry and Alone
by M.M. Wilcox
Summary: This is a short little story I'm writing for a challenge from the Golden Snitch, where I've been enrolled as a Slytherin in Hogwarts. This particular event is named Care of Magical Creatures Class and I am using the Gryffin prompt featured there. Also, this is a little sneak peek for what my friend and I have planned for the Polymorphmagis. Word count: 1,713.


**A/N: This is a short little story I'm writing for a challenge from _The Golden Snitch_ (A great forum, by the way. Lots of fun). I'm enrolled as a Slytherin in Hogwarts (Though, in real life, I'm a Ravenclaw). This particular event is named _Care of Magical Creatures Class _and I am using the Gryffin prompt featured there. Word count: 1,713.**

**Also, this is a little sneak peek for what my friend and I have planned for the Polymorphmagis. ;)**

* * *

It was the afternoon after the term's first quidditch match. Many of the students were chatting excitedly about the outcome of the game and some simply could not shut up about it. Take Michael Corner, a fellow first-year, for example; he's been retelling the story of how Harry Potter's broom went haywire and how the boy still managed to stay on. He's already told us at least ten times and I'm a little annoyed by now. How Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein could stand the constant flow of words that came out of Corner's mouth was beyond me.

Currently, I occupied the library with Boot and Goldstein. There were loads of homework to be done as we neared Winter Holiday, and the three of us agreed it would be better to do it now than have work to do over the holiday. Today, we were going over Potions, a subject that I was adept at, and Transfiguration, which everyone seemed to be good at except me. Go figure.

It was peaceful to sit in the library, with only the occasional question from one of us as we completed the assignments. Normally, I'd work alone, but both Boot and Goldstein were Ravenclaws, like myself, and understood the importance of education.

I peeked outside to discover that it was past noon already. Now I understand why Blyana, my Gryffindor friend, had left sandwiches for us. None of us had bothered to eat them though, we didn't want to get crumbs on the books or our homework.

"Terry, the wording on this one is weird," Goldstein spoke up, "Can you explain?" He showed his parchment to Boot, who glanced over it to see what he was talking about.

"Professor Snape wants you to explain how to make a Forgetfulness Potion, except-" Boot was rudely interrupted by the stamping of feet coming towards us.

I wasn't too bothered by the sudden arrival of whoever it was, but I was concerned, however, when they slammed a book onto our work table. It caused my inkwell to wobble in place and almost spill ink all over my homework!

"Oi, watch it!" I grumbled, standing up and quickly snatching my inkwell before it could spill. Placing it gently back onto the table, I looked up defiantly at whoever was idiotic enough to slam something on a work table. It was not surprising to find out that the culprit, or culprits I should say, was none other than Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. I looked for their bookish friend, Hermione Granger, but she didn't seem to be following the two of them around today like usual.

"Your uncle almost killed Harry!" Weasley shouted right off the bat.

Startled and confused, I said, "Excuse me?"

"Snape was trying to jinx me off my broom at the Quidditch match yesterday," Potter interjected before I could get another word in.

"He was?" I scrunched up my brow, confused. I knew that something had happened to Potter's broom, but I didn't think Severus would have anything to do with it. "Well, even if he was, I had nothing to do with it."

"Liar!" Weasley snapped. By this time, Boot and Goldstein had put down their homework to watch the argument silently. The last comment, however, made both boys jump to their feet in my defense.

"What ground do you have to accuse Kiera of lying?" Boot said logically, which seemed to fluster Weasley, so Potter had to answer.

"Parvati found that next to your bed. How do you explain that?" Potter nodded to the book he had slammed down on the table: A Thousand and One Hexes Quidditch Players Hate.

"You really own that?" asked Goldstein. We all ignored him.

"You went through my things?" I quickly snatched the book to shove it back into my bag. "What is wrong with both of you?"

"We didn't go through them, Parvati found it on the floor," Weasley weakly defended himself.

"I still don't think this is enough evidence to accuse her of attempted murder," Boot interjected. "Or anyone, for that matter." Merlin, was I grateful for Boot's weirdly extensive knowledge of legal cases.

"Hey, what's the problem?" The one-way argument was interrupted by the arrival of Corner. Great, just what I need right now.

"Kiera Snape is the problem. Her uncle tried to kill Harry the other day, and she's denying it!" Weasley pointed accusingly at me, which then caused Corner to round on me, an expression of anger on his face.

"You're a Snape?" He asked with utter surprise. I stared at him, open-mouthed. Was he not there for the Sorting Ceremony or something, because Professor McGonagall very cleary shouted my name for the entire Great Hall to hear.

"Of course I'm a Snape, you imbecile," I shouted back angrily. I knew I wasn't supposed to yell in the library, but I was caught up in all the anger that everyone else was emitting. "My name is literally Kiera Snape, how did you not know that?"

"Well, if I'd known that, I wouldn't have hung out with you in the first place! Your family is full of rotten people and Deatheaters! I wouldn't be surprised if you're one yourself; I can't believe I've been nice to you when you've been lying to all of us." His words knocked me back a step even though he didn't touch me. Would someone be so presumptuous that they wouldn't even hang out with another person because of their family?

"I haven't lied to anybody! And I'm not a bloody Deatheater!" My fingernails pierced my palm from my furled fist; I wouldn't be surprised if I found my hand bleeding later.

"Your uncle is a slimy bat and a murderer. How can you stand him? He's a Deatheater!" Weasley seethed with obvious loathing. "You live with him; you have to be just like him!"

Tears started to well up in my eyes, but I stood my ground. "For your information, I do not live with him and I am not my family." My voice cracked, betraying just how upset I really was. I want to go away, I just want to go and run from this conversation.

Weasley opened up to say more of what he thought of my uncle, but a haughty voice cut him off.

"Potter, Weasley, Corner, I suggest you leave her alone." I took the boys' distraction to wipe the tears from my face to see who it was. Surprisingly, it was Malfoy, with his wand pulled out defensively. Goldstein, Boot, Corner, Potter, and Weasley pulled out their wands, leaving me the only one defenseless. I didn't think I should use magic anyways; strong emotions made performing a spell dangerous.

"And why should I?" Weasley said boldly. But it wasn't Malfoy that answered him.

"Come on, Ron, it's not worth it." Potter tugged on his friend's sleeve, eyeing Malfoy's wand, then the door. At least he had some common sense. The two boys trudged off, Weasley shooting dirty looks my way every two seconds. I didn't wait for Corner to leave; I cleaned up my area, shoved my supplies in my bag, then raced out of the library before Madam Pince could catch me.

Tears blurred my vision as I attempted to find my common room. Why was it always me? Anything bad that could ever happen at Hogwarts either happened to me or Potter, and I'm not the "Golden Boy" destined to defeat Voldermort. It must just be me then, the weird girl that has Professor Snape as an uncle.

"Snape, wait!" A voice called from the other side of the hall. I didn't look back to see who it was, otherwise I would reveal the tears streaming down my face. Soon, a pair of polished black shoes fell into step behind me. Judging from the careful care given to them, they were Malfoy's.

"What do you want?" I sneered at him, not daring to look up. He didn't answer for a long time, so I thought I'd do it for him. "I already know you're not going to ask if I'm alright. You wouldn't care if dementors were sucking out my soul; you were just looking for an excuse to hex Potter."

"Really, Snape. I'm not all about embarrassing Dumbledore's prodigy. I was nearby and it would look bad for me to let a family 'friend' adhere to that abuse." Draco droned on, something about repaying a favor, but I was too angry to listen.

"Listen, Malfoy." I stopped suddenly, pulling out my wand and waving it threateningly in front of his pointed nose. "I don't need your help and I don't need you to fight my battles for me. Now stop following me and leave me alone."

I sped up and marched away from him, both angry and hurt. What gave Weasley the right to accuse me of trying to kill Potter? What gave Corner the right to be prejudice because of my family? And what in Merlin's name gave Malfoy the right to be such, such a snob! What gave any of them the right to mistreat anyone?

You. You're just an outcast. Nobody cares about you. You're too weird, too different, too snobby. How can people even talk to you? You're a no one. The nagging voice that was in the rear of my mind was back. The voice that told me I was a disgrace to my uncle and my parents, the voice that always seemed to be right. I always wanted to pull my hair out whenever it came back, but I couldn't help but listen and think it's right. What have I done to disprove the accusations my own mind created? If even I couldn't deny the worst of myself, what good was I?

It didn't take me long to find an empty classroom. I curled up in the corner, my knees to my chest, and let the tears flow freely.


End file.
